I fancy myself an assassin on a mission,
Out to eradicate a corrupt politician.
Or a foreign agent toying with nuclear fission,
Who gets caught and now must face extradition.
Maybe a famed actress on an audition,
Playing the part of a psychotic physician.
I’m interested in forensics and decomposition,
But yuck as a cadaver-cutting mortician.
How about a mechanic repairing the transmission,
In a dark green, four-wheel-drive Ford Expedition?
It must be rewarding to be a pediatrician,
Traveling the world to cure malnutrition.
I am rather smart, I could be a statistician,
But that sounds just as boring as a mathematician.
A caped, hat-and-rabbit, upstart magician,
As the opening act for a famous musician.
But alas, it’s just me, a limited edition,
Relentlessly pursuing my literary ambition.
“It is neither wealth nor splendor; but tranquility and occupation which give you happiness.” ~ Thomas Jefferson